Lessons
by KitCat Italica
Summary: Joker's thoughts directed at Batman as they get it on one night. Graphic slash, BatsxJoker, PWP...and all that jazz. NSFW even in Chicago xD


Lessons

I only do this because I love you. And you know that, otherwise you wouldn't let me do this. You'll never say it, but I still know it's there. It's what I've been trying to tell you all along.

Our bodies stripped of all we have but each other, I sit between your knees, as you lay on your back, closing your eyes in preparation. Preparation for what you know is inevitably to come. For the past eight months, I've done this to you, over and over, yet you still don't get it. Well, maybe tonight I'll hit a breakthrough. Or maybe I'll just keep cutting you open till you scream, and we lick our wounds and do it all over again the next night. And the next, and the next. Until something finally sticks in that thick head of yours.

But for now, I release the glint of the switchblade into the air, freeing it from its confines. It smiles at me in anticipation, and I smile back as I hear your breathing grow heavier, knowing what's to come. I swivel away from your face to your left leg, wrapping my arm around your knee as I reach with the other arm to your beautiful calf muscle. At the touch of my fingers, it flexes involuntarily, shuddering at the familiar contact. Just how I like it. I watch it writhe and squirm, just like the rest of you, as I slowly, slowly, slowly, bring the blade into your skin, raking a thin line of red all the way to your ankle. From behind me, I hear you intake breath sharply, your whole body shaking with the mixture of rage and fear that always overtakes you when I do this. The lines of old scars from previously opened flesh glare up at me from your skin, and I grin at them as they gradually disappear in a coat of fresh blood that flows from the newest addition. I trace the line I just created with my forefinger, collecting your lifeblood on my fingertip as a fierce cry escapes your unwilling lips the moment my salty sweat meets your wound to fester it.

Now, we're getting somewhere.

My cheek lays against your knee as I dreamily gaze at my handiwork, stroking the gash softly as I listen to your moans of pain. But I don't want it to be just pain for you. That's not my sole aim. So I raise my head and turn to your erection, which glistens with pre-come. So maybe my work on your leg _did_ do something after all. Slyly watching your cock pulse with the same heartbeat that sends your blood escaping your calf, I realize it's time to free you from this agony of waiting. I brush my head down from your knee, past your thigh, and breathe hot air around your member. You quiver with the sensation, yet I hold your knee still with my hand that still holds the switchblade. I'm not finished with that yet, but you'll see in due course what I have planned for you. I wrap the head of your cock inside my lips in a kiss so slow it must be agonizing for you to feel, while at the same time my blade pierces your knee, sending beads of dark red collecting at the knife's tip.

You cry out, whether from the pain of the infliction or from the pleasure of the stimulation I'm not sure, but that's exactly how I want it. You see, what we've had here for these past eight months is a give-and-take situation. I have a thing or two to teach you in these nightly gatherings. I need to show you what pain really is. How to take it in, how to not just bottle it up and absorb it, but to _relish_ it, _savor_ it, _enjoy_ it. For in the world of pain that I create for you, if you can just learn to do that you'll see why _I_ do the things I do. Because life is chock-full of pain, and the least you can do is learn to _love_ it as you laugh with it. I'm only doing this for your own benefit, sweetheart. If you learn to join with your worst nightmares, you'll find that the world is a whole lot funnier.

That thought in mind, I bury your dick further into my mouth, licking up and down your shaft with my tongue in rough, fervent strokes. All the while, the knife at your knee slides deeper and deeper, further and further, drawing a jagged line down your kneecap that brims with delicious crimson. You're screaming now, a scream I love to hear from you as you struggle to breathe. You gasp and moan like a bucking prostitute as I take you deeper into my mouth, down my throat, as the knife twists in your flesh while you scream my name.

You're awfully close now, I can tell. But I'm not letting you let loose just yet. Not until I see some results. I relax the tight constriction on your cock, letting my breath tickle and stifle it with the surrounding heated air. You arch your back, wanting more of the sensations I just ceased, as I press my thumb down on your split knee. Hard. Your screams and groans never pause as sweat drips off of you in buckets. I feel your member strain hard against my mouth, brushing my teeth, yet I'll push a hole through your knee if I have to before I let you come. Then, I hear your deep voice change. It's lighter, more…joyful. I'm not doing anything to your cock, just breathing on it, but you've started moaning and whining as if I were still giving you a blow job right now. You sound so…alive. So ecstatic. And all I'm doing is putting salt and pressure on your wounds, yet you cry out to the heavens as if it's the best thing I've ever done to you.

Finally, you understand.

I take your dick completely into my mouth again and suck hard as I let you reap your reward; you finally scream mightily as you come violently into my mouth, salty semen spilling down my throat. Some escapes my lips and soaks down onto your exploding member, as your whole body releases and shouts for joy.

As you finish, I gradually release you from my mouth, and look to survey the damage done in red rather than white. Your knee is bloodied and red drips everywhere, yet upon closer inspection that's only from the wild pitching and bucking of your orgasm; the actual cut isn't that bad, only a thin red line down the middle of your knee. Then I notice the blood…it isn't all yours. In your uncontrollable spasms, you must have jerked your leg and knocked the knife into my wrist, slicing into a prominent vein on my arm. The sweet sensation of pain tingles on my arm as I stare at my new wound, matching yours. My wrist now rests on your knee, my blood cascading into yours, mixing together. There's no difference between us, on the inside. We're still the same mortal men underneath it all, without the suits and morals (or lack thereof) to prop us up. There's no way to tell which blood is yours and which is mine that now stains your knee. I watch, transfixed, as a drop of my blood runs into a drop of yours, and slowly descends down the length of your leg, coming to a gradual halt at your feet.

It is the most beautiful sight I have ever seen.

I want so badly for that to happen. For us to be joined in more than just blood. For the whole rest of our bodies, our minds, our entire beings to come into that same union that our platelets are no doubt enjoying now. I need it to come true more than I need to set things on fire, more than I need to blow the brains out of innocent civilians. I need you to understand just how desperately I've wanted this. Why I want you to join me in the pleasure of pain. So we can fully breathe in each other, and understand perfectly. There have been moments, yes, much like what just occurred, when I feel like we know, when we look at each other and something…else happens. It happens during sessions like this, and other, more platonic environments: chance stare downs during fights, sidelong glances as I'm carted off to Arkham. But never anything as close as I've always known we were capable of. I need it, and I want you to need it too.

Because I love you.

Your hand brushes up to rest on mine on top of your knee as you suddenly interrupt my thoughts. I look at you and, even in my experiences, I have never felt quite so intimidated in my life by the stare you meet my eyes with. That look I've never been able to handle well. It speaks of things beyond my grasp, but I find myself thirsting for it all the same. I suppose it's your turn now.

I was right in saying our relationship is a give-and-take. We have our lessons to teach each other. I teach you how to feel pain the right way, how to take it in and make it a part of your soul, which is a perfectly valid lesson to teach anyone. But you…you teach me other things. Things I feel I'm better off not knowing about. But you show them to me nonetheless. And as much as I loathe it, it fascinates me all the same. I now realize it isn't so bad, but must be endured. Endured with gritted teeth and eyes squinted shut. For the way you look at me during these moments, when you show me these things…I can't stand it.

You hoist your torso off the concrete floor of this half-finished building we share at night, and crash me onto the ground, with you on top of me. I'm ready for this, I've decided. Whatever you're going to do, I will take. If it's rough and violent, it'll hurt, and that I can deal with. Hell, I'd love that. You do your job well, for a bat. But if it's like what's becoming the norm for you, when everything is so…slow…so…deep and slow…and almost painless…

You bite my neck raw, and I smile in satisfaction. Looks like there's no beating around the bush tonight. It will be steamy, and sweaty, and loud, and it's gonna _hurt_…I can't wait. Grabbing the knife from where it fell out of my grasp when you jumped on top of me, I position it in the air, ready to strike whenever I get the chance, to give you a few more lessons on pain. But then, you change. Your mouth still on my neck, you suddenly cease the grinding of your teeth, and instead start softly licking the aggravated hicky mark, nuzzling my neck with your nose. With _affection_. I growl in annoyance. Not this again. Not that… I lower the knife down behind you in preparation to cut into your back and assert control of the situation again, but your hand grabs my bleeding wrist and, as I did to you just moments ago, presses down into the wound with firm fingers. I cry out in the wondrous pain, but that was what you were going for; you wrench the knife from my grasp and pitch it across the room to where your Batpod is parked. You then slam my arm down onto the concrete, and I feel blood start collecting in dewy drops on my elbow. Then, you return to the painstakingly tender ministrations on my neck, adding to the sensation with stroking movements on my arm from your fingers.

I tense as you start lowering your head down my neck, to my chest, pausing to circle an erect nipple with your tongue. That starts goosebumps up my entire body, and I clench my abs as you continue on your path down my body with your lips, kissing softly every few inches. These attentions I can somewhat handle, but with the way you nearly smile inwardly as you do it, as you tenderly stroke your fingers up and down my arm, caressing me without cause, without need…I want out. But I also can't find the will to make you stop.

Because I find myself perversely craving it too.

Finally, you arrive at my arousal. As much as I wanted to deny the work you did on my body, it seems to have done something right – my cock stands erect, straining up at your face, wanting your lips, your mouth, your teeth to come crashing down to smother me, sucking me off just as I did for you. Although the crashing down bit may be a little much to hope for at this point, I at least feel after what I did for _you_, I deserve repayment for my services. And this time, you acquiesce to my desire, licking arduously slow up my shaft, stopping at the tip to nip the salty head that's oozing pre-come, making me gasp in wondrous joy. I arch my hips closer, wordlessly begging for more, to give me what I crave, but you instead replace your mouth with your fingers, tracing along my member with gossamer touches. You twirl a finger around the slit as my breath hitches, then move down to fondle my balls, a gesture that makes my eyes roll back in my reclining head, as I hum with delight.

Your breath heating my erection as your fingers roll around my sac, I figure it's about time you finished the job and got it done with. Not that it hasn't been good – I'm practically dying for this to never end – but the way you do it, it sets me on edge. And I'm not here to feel uneasy, I'm here to give you your pain-filled pleasure and get my own rocks off in wild abandonment. And I don't particularly feel like anything is being abandoned in me right now. Rather, things are becoming more awakened, feelings normally left untouched in the corners of my brain tuning in more than usual, filling my consciousness. I lick my lips nervously, though you're so used to that tic of mine that you don't pay it any mind, and instead lower your fondling fingers to my entrance. You maneuver your fingers and thumb masterfully, stretching me, testing my limits. I flex with you, but I'm not quite sure where you're going with this, and this anticipation isn't exactly putting my mind at ease…

Then you reach a finger in, torturously slow, driving into me with all the affection in the world. My awareness stops spinning as I'm suddenly hit with what you are doing, and it nearly takes my breath away. You look into my eyes with your dazzling blue gaze, and what I find there is something so overwhelming I need to look away. But I can't. I'm mesmerized by what I'm seeing in your face, and you smile at me as a second finger joins the first, sealing itself inside me. Your free hand reaches down my arm to my tensed hand that claws at the concrete, and softly covers it in a soothing gesture of reassurance. My eyes widen as you reach inside of me again, your thumb of your other hand running along the veins of my hand in rhythm of your thrusts.

Then you find my prostate. You graze along it, just barely aware of it, but my sudden cry gives it away. You suddenly stop your movements and gaze down at me, your crystal blue eyes almost…asking permission. Frustrated, I thud my head back down onto the concrete, ready to just wait this out. For I know just what you're asking permission to do.

My vision blurs with white as you suddenly jar your fingers against my prostate, gripping my hand tight as you do so, holding me still. I gasp and moan, pant and shake, scream your name, begging for it to stop, but you continue. And you just. Won't. Quit.

It's not the sex that's got me this way, don't get me wrong. It's how you give it to me. It's the _pleasure_. That's what you have to offer to teach me. I give you the joy of pain; you give me the agony of pleasure. You've started this, this…_method_ of making love to me that I don't know how to respond to, because the way it makes me respond is so…foreign. Not just the yelling and other assorted hooker noises and motions, we've been through that with each other countless times. It's the emotions that go with it. I'm not accustomed to this tenderness you show me, the affection you look at me with, this brand of…_comfort_ in which you settle in with as you get the show on the road. I've never known anything quite like what you give me. It's how you always get me back for something, keeping me in check. Whenever I do something particularly nasty to the cops, or to the schoolchildren, or to the hospitals and movie theatres, be it blowing them up, going on a shooting spree, even using the screaming citizens as target practice to work on my knife-throwing skills – you give this to me at our next meeting. And you know how it makes me feel, and I don't like that you know. I've sometimes even considered toning things down a notch from time to time, just so you won't make me feel so damn good later that night. But I've never gone farther than just considering it, because I'll take what you give me, and make you hurt even worse for it in return. It's a balance of power that neither one of us is quite willing to upset, for fear of what we might discover about ourselves.

Then a third finger shoves its way in with the other two, and your hand grips mine tightly, as if giving me something to hold onto to ride it out. And I find myself taking it, squeezing in a death grip, as my back arches, my hips scream for release, and I whimper. I'm sounding like a little lost puppy right now, but at this point I've lost all coherent thoughts of caring. I'm drowning in you, in this pleasure you give me, this form of…oh _please_ just make it stop, don't keep going, it's too much, too much, too damn _good, PLEASE_…

I'm screaming my words at you in between my moans and whines, but you just grip my hand harder, closing your eyes to the sound of my agony, when suddenly…you stop. My moans gradually subside, but I'm still panting hard, my chest heaving up and down with the exertion. I can't seem to get enough air into my lungs as you painstakingly, slowly, so slow its killing me, draw your fingers out of my ass. I open my eyes from their scrunched up state as I feel you gaze at me, your breath at the head of my cock. I'm so hard now I think I'm gonna blow, but you wrap your now-exited hand around my shaking shaft, just barely touching me, but enough to keep me still. I'm vibrating in your hand, breath shuddering in ragged gasps as you inch your way up my body, your breath raking my torso on your way. I clench my hand in your grasp, but you hold it steady, and I get the message: you're not letting me come until you want me to. Meanwhile, my orgasm is building in my groin, and I need to let it out, but you haven't finished with me yet. You snake your head to my neck, where the red angry bite mark glistens with saliva and throbs along with the heartbeat in my cock, and your breath seeps into my ear softly. I feel my cock twitch and writhe in your hand, when I suddenly feel the pressure from your hand increase, constricting my member with your gentle, firm fingers. I now know that your purpose is about to manifest itself, and I sink my head back, tilting my chin up, my puppy whimpering returned. I need it. I want it. I also dread what you're going to make me feel in order to make me come. But I can feel the emotion pressing up on my skull, and I know I won't be able to stop it from flooding in whenever you let me loose. Your hand holding mine wraps around my palm softly, ready to squeeze as I reach my peak. Finally, after I can't stand it anymore and am crying for release, you send your soft whisper into my ears as the pressure spikes in my groin from your hand.

"Come."

I scream louder than I've ever screamed before, in pure jubilation that my arrival had finally commenced. My semen shoots off into the air, coating your hand with the thick white liquid. My soul is on fire as the pure ecstasy of what you made me feel overcomes me in waves and bursts, my body skyrocketing into glorious jerks, bucks, and spasms. I'm so alive, and you hold my hand hard as I dig my nails into your knuckles, drawing blood that makes you groan in happiness upon feeling it.

Finally, I'm spent, completely dry. I come off the plateau of emotion and descend back to Earth, still shuddering and shaking in a manner that had nothing to do with the cold night air. You're panting too, and we simply lay there for the longest of moments, as I try to reset my mind back to normal. I'm going to remember this release for a long time, but the feelings that came with it I never want to be reminded of again. Yet…I can't ever separate the orgasm from what you made me feel during it. It was the emotion itself that made it feel so good.

I'm so confused, I need something to do. As soon as I can see again, I scramble over to the heap of cloth and armor, and begin to dress. You soon follow suit, and I know why: I don't think either one of us can fully come to terms with what we just went through together. Usually it isn't this bad, this intense, this _good_…

We pick up random articles off the ground, handing what's not ours to each other, helping each other dress wordlessly. Though I find that even with my multiple layers of long sleeves that I wear when fully dressed, I'm still shivering. I try to hide my trembling from you, but I can tell you're trying to do the same. Buttons become hard to do up, I'm shaking so badly, and you can barely reattach the clasps on your armor without cutting yourself with one of the pieces. The tie I completely give up on; it's useless to try right now, I know. Throwing my hands down from my neck, I scan the rest of the floor for what's left, when I realize the only thing left is...your mask. Your mask.

…when did you take THAT off???

I suddenly flash back to the entire night, and it suddenly dawns on me that I've been staring at the face of Bruce Wayne this whole time. You certainly never said anything, or made a big show out of it, and as I watch you turn your head to stare at it too, I can tell from the shock that registers on your bare face that you didn't notice the mask's absence, either. It just felt so right…so…natural, that you and I both didn't even realize. Is this what we've come to now, Bruce? Strange to be calling you this, but at the same time, it feels right, too. Not out of place, just…something to grow accustomed to. But have we really sunk to this level, where we know each other so well that even revealing our faces to each other doesn't reveal anything more at all? It's still my Batsy in there, you just look different. But you still feel the same, smell the same, and from what we just did, you sure taste the same. You are both Batman and Bruce, the same man I've fucked with for eight months.

I reach to pick up the cowl, and hand it to you. You mechanically reach out to grab it, and I know you're wondering at the same thing I am. Then your eyes meet mine, and…there it is. There it is. The look, the _connection_, I've hungered after these past three years, my whole life even. The two drops of blood, pooling together until you can't tell whose is whose anymore, and now our souls are meshing, I can feel it, and I know exactly why, and suddenly the mask drops to the floor as you grab me in your arms and I grab you in mine and our lips crash together, finally home.

Our moment of sheer rejoicing soon quiets as we relax and deepen the kiss, softly giving in to the feelings that you've shown for me, that I've been introduced to by you as you jerk me off. But pain also comes – the pain of never being whole until this moment, the pain that I opened your eyes to and planted in your soul to match mine. The pain we now fully indulge in, and smile as tears of mixed pain and joy and blind feeling prick our eyes.

We eventually, after a moment of forever, break our lips apart slowly, and breathe in each other, wanting to absorb the essence of the man we're holding in our arms. You break the silence, your eyes angelically closed, as you gently whisper to me what I've known this whole time, but never realized in full.

"I love you."

I smile slightly at the confession, for I know that it's always been true. Haven't I been telling _you_ this whole time that I love you? But then, I also come to the conclusion that we never have really _loved_ each other until now. There can be no love without pain, but neither can there be love without pleasure. We each loved the other in our own way, but now that we knew what the other was trying to tell us, we have unwittingly taught each other how to truly and deeply _love_.

I bury my face in your neck as we meet each other in a tight embrace. My whisper caresses your hair as I breathe out my words into the brown locks.

"I love you, too."

We stand together for the longest time. I plant the tenderest of kisses on your neck as you lace your fingers through my green hair. We break apart, and you quickly kiss my forehead and depart for your Batpod. I watch you prepare it for your ride back to wherever it is you go when we're finished (which now that I think about it must be Wayne Manor), but a burning rises in my chest. I can't just let this night go by as if it never happened. I don't want to let you go just yet. I don't want to let you go ever.

I run up to you and as you swivel around to the source of the pounding footfalls behind you, I jump into your surprised arms and cover you in a kiss that put the last one to shame. Off-balance, you lean your body back against the Batpod as you respond to the kiss, finally breaking it off with a chuckle. "I'll be back," you assure me with a laugh. "You know I will. Wait and see." It may just be the mind-blowing sex that's making us more at ease with each other, but it sure feels good to hear you laugh so easily with me.

"I don't wanna wait," I tease back. For all the joking in my manner to match my name, I'm being completely candid, too. Sometimes, I've learned, it pays to be serious once in a while. "Take me with you." I lean into your body as your arms wrap around me, your face widening with shock at the unexpected command. You may not think I'm serious on this one, Bruce, but I am. I want to be with you, and I'm not going to wait any longer to get you by my side, where you've always belonged. And besides, even if you don't agree this time, you know I'll come visit you anyway. Maybe that's what finally convinced you, as you suddenly smile warmly at me and answer, "Okay." You must have fallen for me more than I thought to come to that decision so quickly.

I guess the surprise shows on my face, for you smirk in amusement and ask, "What, not expecting me to agree to it?"

"Not the first time I asked, no," I admit, which earns another laugh from you. But, as I've told you before, "You never fail to surprise me, Bats."

And with that I jump onto the Batpod – something I've always wanted to do – as you settle comfortably behind me, and we tear down the road to your Batcave, and our new life.

* * *

**Haha, first porno fic written (but definitely not the first I've ever come up with xD). Decided this was more fun than crappy poetry analysis. Funny though, how my poem is called "Much Madness Is Divinest Sense" by Emily Dickinson. Guess I can't stray away from Mr. J no matter what I do ^^**


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